


Debt

by orionsfreckles



Series: Debt [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Minor Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Tumblr, femme!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionsfreckles/pseuds/orionsfreckles
Summary: After an incident in the woods you find yourself in the debt of an infamous witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Debt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725796
Comments: 1
Kudos: 79





	Debt

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Witcher fic and my first time posting any of my writing online. Also I am in no way an expert in the franchise so I apologize for any inconsistencies.

The forest floor was bountiful that day. Warm sunlight peeked through the treetops as you filled a leather pouch with wild onions and mushrooms, a welcome treat after months of eating potatoes from your garden and near-rancid meat brought home from the tavern. Dirt caked your fingernails as you dug through the underbrush to retrieve the thickest roots, and wild berries stained your skirts crimson, but you didn’t care. When you were tending bar you let your hair down, unlace your blouse and bat your eyelashes to get coin, but here in the forest your appearance didn’t matter.

As the day went on and the sun grew hot you strayed deeper and deeper into the forest, farther from your home than you had ever gone before. Eventually you stumbled upon a crystal clear lake, tucked away behind a frame of foliage. The water looked cool and tempting. Wiping sweat from your brow you sat on a fallen tree and unlaced your boots, sticking your toes in the soft silt near the edge of the pool. _A quick dip,_ you think, _there’s no one around for miles. A quick dip then I’ll head home_. You quickly disrobed and removed the pin holding your hair up, leaving your clothes in a pile near the fallen tree and wading into the waist-high lake. The water was cold on your naked legs and your bare nipples hardened at the change in temperature. You cupped the cool water in your hand and brought your face to it before leaning back, letting the water fall through your hair and down your naked body. As you reveled in the freeing and cleansing feeling you closed your eyes and begin to sing. It was a catchy tune, one you heard a pompous bard singing in the tavern a few nights ago.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty…”

With your eyes closed you continued to bathe in the clear water, listening only to the sound of your own voice as you recount the ballad of the snow-haired vagabond you’d heard so much about. When you opened your eyes you noticed that a thick layer of fog had rolled in all around you, and a singular figure stood stoic at the opposite end of the lake. A pair of amber eyes shone through the mist, staring directly at - or through - you.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you flinched to cover yourself, but the Butcher of Blaviken remained unfazed. Your skin flushed wine red in embarrassment and you turned around quickly to where you left your clothes, but your eyes soon spotted what was actually captivating the Witcher. A spindly monster with pointed ears, lengthy talons, and gnarled teeth crouched near the fallen tree. Your knees began to buckle beneath you and you opened your mouth in a silent scream, too terrified to move or make a sound. The waves your sudden turn created rippled across the surface of the water, crashing on the shore at the monster’s feet. It opened its mouth and an unholy screech pierced the heavy silence as it pushed off from its hind legs and lunged into the pool towards you. You stumbled backwards in an attempt to get away, but the lakebed was soft and slippery and your feet fell out from beneath you. The last thing you saw before your skull made contact with a submerged rock was the monster being thrown away from you by some invisible force.

\---

As you regained consciousness you felt the soft familiarity of your bed beneath you. You sat up, not remembering what happened, and winced at the throbbing behind your forehead. Instinctively your hand reached up and was met with a cloth bandage hastily wrapped around your head, sticky with blood at the temple. Suddenly the memories came flooding back; the lake, the Witcher, the monster. Looking down you saw that you were no longer naked and instead were dressed in the clothes that you had gone foraging in. Confused and a bit dizzy, you gingerly rose fully from the bed and stepped out of your bedroom.

You entered the front room of your small cottage to see Geralt of Rivia sitting in front of the fireplace, eyes affixed on the front door. He must have heard or sensed your entrance, because he soon turned to look at you. His golden eyes made you feel small. “You’re awake,” he said in a low, gravely voice that sent shivers through your body.

You nodded, too embarrassed to say much, but the words “how long was I…” managed to escape your throat. “Hours,” was his only response, and you saw through the window near the door that the sun was beginning to rise. Hours indeed - it was already the next morning. The two of you sat in a pregnant silence for what seemed like minutes before he cleared his throat. “I found this cabin just north of the forest. The owners must be out.”

A sly smile creeped at the corners of your lips, but you decided not to tell him that it was your house he'd brought you to. “Thank you,” you said instead, “for saving me. You didn’t have to.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his right ankle over his left knee. “Couldn’t exactly leave you to drown,” he replied, “naked in the woods, left to be found by who knows what.”

Your cheeks grew rosy and you wrapped your arms across yourself, feeling ashamed of your foolishness. “I’m in your debt,” you said, not daring to meet his eyes. His smoldering, piercing eyes.

Geralt rose from his seat and crossed towards you, looking you up and down. “What’s your name, girl.” The question is more of a command, as if to say “Tell me your name. Now.”

“Y/N,” you responded meekly.

“And how exactly do you plan to repay your debt, Y/N?” His low baritone made your stomach flutter.

You thought for a moment, “I can give you lodging for as long as you need. I know the owner of this cabin.”

He raised an eyebrow, “and how do you know them?”

“She’s me,” you responded. There was another silence before a smile cracked across Geralt’s face and he chuckled softly before walking back to his seat. As he turned away from you you noticed four long tears in the back of his shirt, with gashes in his skin peeking out from underneath. “You’re wounded,” you said, stepping towards him.

“No shit,” he responded. “It’s part of the job.”

“Let me help,” you insisted heading towards the kitchen to your stash of salves and creams, “just take off what’s left of that shirt. I can mend it for you, too.” When you turned back around, medicine and a rag in one hand and a pitcher of water in the other, you see that he’s obliged. Your breath hitched at the sight of his bare arms and chest. Being a full figured woman, not many men you know are able to lift you, but Geralt was definitely more than capable. He'd carried you here, anyway. Part of you wished he would wrap his thick arms around you and carry you wherever he wanted.

Shaking away the thoughts, you stepped towards him and he shifted in his chair, giving you proper access to his back. You dipped the rag in water and gently wiped the dirt and dried blood from around the wounds, then dab at the cuts with a bit of clear liquor. He inhales deeply as you do this, feeling the sting, but otherwise does not react. When the wounds were clean you applied a cooling salve, relishing in the opportunity to feel his supple skin. Unfortunately, as all good things do, this comes to an end. “They’re in an awkward spot,” you told him, wiping your hands on your skirt, “so I can’t bandage them. But you should keep it easy until they fully heal.” Your own wound had begun to itch and you subconsciously raised a hand to the bandage to scratch it, wincing softly at the pain.

Geralt saw you do this and let out a low breath, grabbing a footstool from near the fireplace and dragging it in front of him. He patted it softly, beckoning for you to sit. Your heart began to race as you sat down, the hem of your skirt resting in folds at the floor. His hands, rough and calloused as they are, were gentle as they unwrapped the bandage from around your head. He took a corner of the cloth and dipped it in the pitcher of water before dabbing it at your left temple where curly tendrils of hair had fused to your bloody skin. It was less difficult to look into his eyes when they weren't peering into yours, and you enjoyed every second of it.

After cleaning your wound he dragged his thumb down your cheek before gently cupping your chin in his hand. You held your breath, not daring to move beneath his gaze, thinking only of the fact that this man has seen all of you. A moment later he released you and stood, turning towards the door. “I have to tend to my horse,” he said, facing away from you.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Geralt?” you asked, finally releasing your held breath.

Standing in the doorway, he turned over his shoulder. You saw what appeared to be a wry smile spread across his face. “Well, you are in my debt, Y/N.”

Geralt spent most of the day outside with his mare as you went about your daily chores, still slow and shaky from the previous day’s events. As you sat in your garden and mended his shirt you couldn’t help but steal glances at his muscular form, beads of sweat glistening off his bare chest. How badly you wanted to run your fingers all over him, exploring the curvature of his body and discovering if any other parts of him were glistening. Toes curling in your boots, you returned inside before the thoughts could overtake you.

Hours later he entered your cottage, his hand wrapped around the neck of a dead bird, its throat slit and drained of blood. He lifted the beast and set it on your kitchen table. “Dinner,” he said gruffly, beginning to clean his kill. You nodded and joined him at the table to cut the vegetables you had foraged the day before. The two of you prepared and ate dinner in silence, and afterwards you offered him your bed to sleep in for the night, which he accepted with little argument. As you laid down on the floor near the fireplace you wondered how long it had been since he’d slept in a bed, and whether or not he slept in it alone.

When you awoke the next morning you noticed his boots were missing from near your front door. Your suspicions were confirmed when you peeked into your bedroom and found it empty, bedclothes pulled up and tucked neatly. Like so many women before you, the witcher had left you without farewell. You wondered if your debt to him was repaid, but a single night’s lodging in exchange for a life hardly seemed an equal trade. Sighing, you turned to pull fresh clothes from your wardrobe and began to dress for a day’s work.

\---

“Look who decided to show up!” Dedrik called at you when you entered the near-empty tavern. “Didn’t feel like gracing us with your presence yesterday?” the pub owner asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

Your face flushed crimson as you brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. A silk scarf wrapped around the crown of your head covered your wound, now scabbed over and bruised. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t sell ale,” Dedrik cut you off and threw a rag at you, which hit you in the chest before falling into your arms, “luckily that ass of yours does.” You gritted your teeth and balled the rag between your fists, uttering silent curses at your boss when he turned his back on you.

The rest of the day was uneventful. You wiped down tables, slung mugs of ale, and laughed flirtatiously at the advances of bar patrons in hopes they’d fill your pocket with coin. Some of them did. As the night grew dark and the pub filled with its usual rowdy bunch you noticed a shimmer of silver hair cutting through the crowd. Your heart raced in your chest as you saw Geralt walking towards the bar. His ochre eyes met yours and widened ever so slightly in surprise before looking you up and down, the corner of his mouth creeping upward. He took a seat across from you at the bar. “What can I get for you, witcher?” you ask, bending forward to lean on the wood.

He pulled a coin from his pocket and set it between you. “A pint.” You obliged, pulling a mug from the cabinet and filling it with ale before handing it to him. His hand brushed against yours as he took it, making the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. He took a long sip and stared at you for a moment before speaking. “So is this where you’re usually found?” he asked, “When you’re not traipsing naked through monster-infested forests?”

You pursed your lips and shifted your weight. “Most days, yes,” you responded. “I’m sure you understand the necessity of a steady income.”

“Have to pay for that shack somehow, hm?”

“That shack,” you replied, with a bite in your tone, “was my parents’.”

“Mmhm,” he took another sip, “and where are they now?”

You stared into his eyes, deliberately, “Six feet beneath the earth.”

He drained the rest of his pint and produced another coin. You took the mug and refilled it, and when you slid it back to him he rested his callous hand on yours, running the pad of his thumb across your knuckles before taking the drink. You stand, motionless, wishing that time would stand still. It doesn’t.

The moment was broken at the sound of Dedrik’s laugh as he slid up next to you. “Well, what have we here?” he asked, wrapping an arm around you and resting a hand at the back side of your hip, “Has the White Wolf taken a liking to our barmaid?” Geralt responded by taking a silent sip. “I’m sorry to say she’s not on the menu,” Dedrik continued, “unless, of course, I get a cut of the coin!” He laughed and drug his hand up the side of your body until it met your breast, which he quickly squeezed before you could squirm out of his grip. Your eyes, downcast in embarrassment, caught Geralt’s hand tightening on the handle of his mug.

After Dedrik left you took a rag and began cleaning the bar. “Do you need lodging tonight?” you asked quietly, not meeting the witcher’s eyes.

He nodded solemnly, “Yes.”

Geralt sat at the bar for an hour or so before leaving. You stayed, working until the small hours of the morning when the last drunkard was kicked out and you could finally close. You expected to head home and find Geralt waiting there, or perhaps already in bed, but when you left the bar you found him across the street, holding his horse’s reins and staring at you. “Were you waiting for me?” you asked, crossing to meet him, “You know where I live.”

He stared at you for a moment, then began to walk down the street in the direction of your cottage at the edge of town. “I don’t like that man,” he said.

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you responded, “but the bastard gave me a job when I needed one. You get used to it after a while.”

“Get used to what? Being fondled like a piece of meat? Get used to his hands?”

 _I could get used to you_ , you thought to yourself, _could get used to your hands._ But you said nothing. And was that a twinge of jealousy in his voice, or simply your wishful imagination?

The two of you walked in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “You deserve better, Y/N.”

“And where am I supposed to find better?” you asked, “I see no knight in shining armor come to sweep me off my feet. All I see is a witcher, to whom I owe my life.”

More silence followed and the two of you arrived at your home. You entered and headed for your bedroom as Geralt tied up his mare. You quickly undressed and slid your nightgown over your head, and he entered just as it fell to cover your modesty. He crossed to the bed as you nervously tucked your hair behind each ear, having narrowly avoided giving him a second show. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, Geralt?” you asked. You took his silence as an answer and began to walk towards the door.

“Y/N.” You stopped in your tracks and turned to look at him, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Come here.”

Warmth rushed through your body as you walked toward him. He slid his palm across the bed and you sat next to him, your heart racing. He placed his hand over yours and rubbed gently up the length of your arm. “I’m no knight. And my armor is tarnished,” his hand came to rest at your shoulder, thumb caressing your collarbone, “and I did not come here with intentions to sweep you off your feet. But you do owe me your life. And it took every ounce of my strength not to strangle that man when he touched you today how I’ve wanted to touch you since I saw you standing in that pool.” Your breath hitched and you leaned into his touch, hungry for more. He pulled you close, breathing in your scent and nuzzling your cheek with his stubble as he whispered in your ear. “There’s a way for you to repay your debt,” he said, “but you must tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you responded, breathlessly.

“What do you want?” he asked, his lips like feathers brushing against your skin.

“I want you to take me.”

That was all he needed to hear. His mouth was at your neck, teeth grazing and nibbling your flesh, as he rapidly pulled your nightgown up, breaking away only to lift it above your head and throw it to the floor. He gazed at your body in the low lamplight, admiring every roll and curve. “I’ve missed this view,” he said, before placing a hand at the back of your head and leaning you down onto the mattress as he pressed his lips to yours. You removed his shirt in turn, eager to see his body as well. Your legs were wrapped around his hips, and you could feel his bulging cock beneath his trousers rubbing against your already wet cunt. His hands traced the swells and valleys of your body, lingering at your breasts and tugging at your nipples. A moan rose up from deep within you but you placed your hand against your mouth to stifle it.

A grin spread across Geralt’s face when you did this, and he grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the mattress above your head, the soft pressure restraining you without causing pain. “No need to be quiet, girl,” he said, his other hand tracing farther down your abdomen, “I want to hear those noises.”

“Fuck.” The word escaped your lips as his finger entered your cunt.

“Dripping already, are we?” His finger curled within you, feeling the soft ridges of your walls. He inserted another finger and you let out a moan, not bothering to fight it this time. The pad of his thumb circled your clit as he fucked you with his hand, and you bucked your hips. His pace quickened and he released your wrist to grab your breast instead, replacing his thumb with his mouth. You grabbed a tangle of his white hair and tightened your thighs’ grip on his face as the crescendo of pleasure rolled out from within. Your moans reached a peak, and he began to slow his pace before coming up from air and pulling out his fingers, dripping with your cum.

Basking in the afterglow of orgasm you turned your face away from him, still subconsciously bashful in his presence. No sooner did you do this than he grabbed your chin and sharply turned your head, forcing you to lock eyes with him as he unbuttoned his trousers. Without breaking your gaze you took his hand from your chin and guided it towards your lips, brushing your tongue against his fingertips before taking them in your mouth. You could taste yourself on his fingers.

“Fuck, girl,” he said, fully removing his trousers.

“That’s the idea,” you responded, wrapping your hand around his thick cock and stroking the length of him.

His amber eyes rolled back in pleasure and he mounted you, lifting your hips for better access. He slid himself against your folds, tapping at your clitoris with the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want,” he said. There was a carnal energy in his voice.

“I want you to fuck me.”

You could barely get the words out before letting out a squeal of delight as he thrust himself inside you. You had taken men before, but they all paled in comparison to his size. You moaned with every thrust as he went deeper within you, head poking against your cervix. He would pull out slowly, almost exiting you completely, before ramming his hips into yours. You would be surprised (and a little disappointed, honestly) if you were not smattered with bruises the next morning. “Geralt,” his name came out a breathy sigh as you felt yourself nearing orgasm again.

His grip on your hips tightened, and you welcomed the pain. “Say that again.” “Geralt...” He rammed himself into you, picking up the pace. “Geralt.” Faster still, harder. “Geralt! Oh gods, Geralt!!!” You practically screamed his name in pleasure as the waves of climax came rushing over you. You felt your cunt contract and release against his cock as he continued to pound you, slicker than ever now that you’d coated him with your cum. His orgasm came soon after, filling you with his hot seed.

The two of you collapsed next to each other on the bed, both panting and slick with sweat as the smell of sex hung in the air. The aftershocks continued to rock you as you nuzzled up against him, breathing him in. He wrapped a muscular arm around you, tracing your body with his hand once more before letting it rest at the small of your back. As the two of you began to drift into sleep you wanted to ask him if that was sufficient repayment, but part of you wished you could spend the rest of your life in debt to Geralt of Rivia.


End file.
